Day & Night
by HC0
Summary: Fiyero's tribal initiation. If it's any incentive to read and review, remember that the boy are given only a musical instrument--and a loincloth.


**Disclaimer: **_**Wicked**_** and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire.

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He'd felt nigglings of apprehensiveness since a bit before his thirteenth birthday, but now Fiyero was starting to feel genuine nervousness. Initiation into the tribe, manhood (he was already suffering _that_), pride, whatever. The reality of being left alone in the middle of the Thousand Year Grasslands in the middle of the night with no weapon or clothing was sinking in. Worse, unlike the boys who went through the ritual on their birthdays, Fiyero, with his birthday smack in midwinter, had to nibble his nails for four extra months while the weather warmed somewhat. But that was almost over, and now he was standing with his father and some other men in a tent, facing the ritual itself—and a few other worries.

"I'm supposed to wear _that_?" he asked skeptically, eyeing the loincloth being held out to him.

A few men snickered, his father among them. _Thanks for backing me._

"Yes, _that_. I know, I had the same reaction."

"So what did you do?"

"What you're going to do—get over it. Change."

"Here?" Besides, it was still cold.

"Yes, here."

Fiyero took what still seemed a far-too-small undergarment. "So…could you please look away now?"

"Every man has the right to make his own choices. And it's getting late."

Fiyero swore, very softly so that nobody would hear him. He was conscious enough of his body at this point of his life; the last thing he wanted was for a bunch of people to see him in something revealing. He changed quickly, and while his father and most of the men averted their eyes, a couple didn't. Later he would learn that this was customary and that nobody wanted the job of watching some embarrassed kid in his underwear, but at the moment he felt only the embarrassed part of it. He grabbed a cloak and wrapped it around himself—in the still-chilly weather this was allowed until he reached the place where he'd be staying overnight. "Done."

His father nodded. "Good. So now we'll go." Marillot nodded at one of the other men, who followed him and Fiyero out onto the open plains. Generally the boy was accompanied by his father and the chieftain, to ensure that the father did not help his son in any unfair way. In Fiyero's case, as his father _was_ chieftain, another man was chosen, by lottery, to accompany them.

They walked together in silence for almost an hour. Boys didn't often die, but it had been known to happen. After all, being left almost totally defenseless with a bunch of wild animals and perhaps a few enemy tribesmen, especially with a title on his head. Fiyero felt his father's hand squeeze his shoulder and wondered if they were both thinking the same thing.

Both men walking with him had the tribal markings; he'd have those same tattoos this time tomorrow if he survived (and he _would_). But say he didn't…he wondered who would become prince. He had no siblings, after all, and his parents were hardly of an age to present him with any. He didn't want to be the one to end the whole Tigelaar line. Sure, he had some uncles and cousins who were also Tigelaars that would probably take up the job, but still….

Evening was fast turning to night; he could already see some stars. It had drizzled earlier and the grass was cold and slick against his bare feet. He wanted to ask how much longer, but his mouth and throat wouldn't work for him. Of all the rituals for the Arjikis to keep around. They started climbing a hill. Perhaps this was it?

It was. They stopped, and Fiyero looked around to see what he could in the diminishing light: not much. Just a lot of waving grass. And he wouldn't even have a knife. Instead—

"Yours for the night," said Marillot, handing him a bamboo flute and taking back the cloak.

Fiyero nodded. He still couldn't say anything.

"Look, you'll be fine. I've seen wimpier survive."

"And stronger die," the other man muttered, and Marillot shot him a death glare. Oh, the love of friends.

"You'll be fine," Marillot repeated, and Fiyero nodded, completely unconvinced.

Fiyero's mother had taken care of all the embarrassing hugging and fussing and head-kissing earlier today; besides the time and place weren't right for any effusive goodbyes, so there was just a quick hug before the men walked off into the night, leaving Fiyero with a loincloth and a stick .

The first thing Fiyero registered about his hill was that it was freezing, especially with nothing to wear. He also noted that he didn't start doing something—anything—soon he would creep himself out and do something humiliating. He sat himself on a rock and put the flute to his lips. He'd never found himself to be musically gifted, but then, he'd never really tried. After some testing he found to his great surprise that the flute was relatively easy to handle, and that he could actually make it sound good so long as he didn't consider all the lions and tigers and bears out there. Oh my.

He turned his attentions to trying to play a dirty drinking song he'd picked up when nobody had thought he was listening—perhaps not the best during an ancient rite, but it was his choice. It didn't work too well, and he was so engrossed that he didn't hear the footsteps and didn't notice anything until he felt hot breath on the back of his neck.

He dropped the flute and slowly turned around to look.

The cougar looked back.

Fiyero barely managed to keep himself from yelping. Slowly, he started to back away. "Nice cat," he managed to say. "Don't kill me…please don't kill me." He felt a sharp twig under his foot and used the foot to pick it up. "Please don't kill me," he repeated.

The cougar didn't seem like it wanted to listen.

Oh dear.

At least the moon was full and he could see. He turned the sharpest point of the twig toward the cat. He watched as the muscles tensed, and at the exact moment it sprung at him jumped out of the way. The cougar lunged at him again, and Fiyero jammed the stick at one of the glowing gold eyes. His aim was true, and it went straight in. The cougar roared and charged again. Fiyero jabbed with the stick and poked it at the soft nose. He kicked, a bad idea: the cat was solidly planted, and Fiyero fell to the ground with a thud, and the cougar was standing over him, something dripping from its ruined eye.

_I'm dead_, Fiyero thought, and knowing that it was hopeless calmed him down. He might as well make as good a fight of it as possible. He felt around for something else and his hand found a rock. He bashed it into every sensitive part of the cougar's body that he could reach, scrambling backward as he did so and finding his way to his feet.

They both stood still for a few seconds, staring at each other, and Fiyero saw now that the cougar was a rather pathetic specimen, as big dangerous creatures go—small for its species, thin, a bit scraggly, and it seemed that the cat had been pretty beat up even before Fiyero had started on it.

Fiyero pointed off into the distance. "Go there," he said. "I think there's a whole big herd of antelope, or something. They're good food."

The cat cocked its head, looking at Fiyero with its good eye, and the boy felt a terrible pang for what he had done to it. True, his life had been in danger, but he'd maimed such a lovely animal. "I'm sorry," he told it. "You shouldn't have attacked me, though."

The cougar came forward and rubbed its head against Fiyero's leg. Fiyero stood shocked for a few seconds, and then cautiously rubbed the furry head. Suddenly he remembered what he'd been told. ­_There's no way of knowing what will come to you during the night. But things—animals, spirits, perhaps even people—will come, and it's up to you to decide what they need. Soothing, fighting…be very careful that you don't do the wrong thing._

It could be that the cougar, once defeated, needed some sort of consolation, Fiyero concluded. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "But you can't stay here forever. I hope you get better. Maybe if you get a good meal—not people, though—and keep yourself safe." God, he'd sounded like his mother just now! "There's the antelope herd over there, remember? It's been amazing meeting you; now I think you have to go." He patted the cougar's head again, and it licked his hand before wandering off in the direction he'd pointed.

Once the cougar was out of sight, Fiyero realized that he'd just defeated—kind of—a cougar bare-handedly. He didn't feel much pride though. Just sorry. But he'd probably done what he'd had to do for the cougar. Why the fight was needed, he didn't know. But perhaps both peace and conflict were necessary.

He picked up the flute again and resumed trying to play the song, but he'd barely started when he saw a shape coming toward him. It was spectral—a ghost of some sort, he realized. As it drew closer, he could see that it was a girl. Great, of all the spirits that could wander up to him in this state it had to be a girl, and a pretty one at that.

"Who are you?" was all he could think of to say when she came up to him.

She slid down and sat cross-legged beside him, arranging her skirt around her ankles. "I'm Anorela, Called Nor by those that call me."

"Did _I_ call you?"

"I'm here, so I suppose you did."

"How?"

Anorela—or Nor— shrugged. "I'm not from this world. Things are different in the Other Land; it's a whole different plane of being, beyond your comprehension. Suffice it to say that you called and I came."

"So wait—there _is_ an Other Land."

"Of course."

"And is there a God?" He'd been wondering this for a while.

"There is. And for your own sake don't ask me for a description; that's beyond impossible."

"So you're a spirit. Can you see everything that goes on?"

Nor picked at her skirt as she tried to figure out an answer. "'Seeing' is also different."

"Can you see the future?"

"Sometimes." She smiled. "Would you like to know yours?"

Know his future…everything that would happen…. "But then I could change it," he realized, "and so I wouldn't be knowing my future at all, which could screw everything up."

"I'll take that as a no."

"Do you appear to people often?"

Nor shook her head. "I'm a fairly new spirit—I was once alive; I'm not here from the beginning. I've been in some dreams—I spoke to my mother—but you're the first awake person I've come to."

"Why you?"

"I don't know. Divine will?"

There wasn't much he could answer to _that_.

"So, you were playing your flute. It sounded nice. Have you been taking lessons for a long time?"

He coughed. "Actually, I never have. It's not even my flute, although maybe I'll be able to keep it. I kind of like it. This is an initiation rite. Otherwise I wouldn't be sitting here mostly naked in cold grass talking to a ghost."

"An initiation rite?" Nor perked up. "Explain."

Fiyero rattled out the basics as Nor listened with interests.

"So I'm _supposed_ to be here. Interesting, I never thought I'd be doing this."

"So what _did_ you think you'd be doing?" The moment it was out he cursed himself. Stupid, how many people planned their deaths, and what if she was hurt when he mentioned her human life?

Indeed, her face went tight, but before he could blurt an apology she started to talk. "I never wanted anything spectacular—just a normal life: get married, have babies, be happy. Instead I died. Stoned. Death by religious prejudice."

Fiyero touched her arm, awkwardly. It felt like cool, solid water. "I'm…I'm sorry…" How did one apologize to a spirit for the spirit's death?

Nor waved a hand. "It's fine. There's no changing it. Do you have any great plans?"

"At this point, not really. I'll probably end up doing something like what you wanted, though. Except for the having babies part," he amended. "That I'll leave to my wife."

"What type of wife would you like?"

"Actually, I'm already married," he admitted. "Arranged sort of thing, when I was about seven. I don't know her."

"But you're going along with it all?"

"Well, I can't do much else. And I ought at least to give her a chance, right?"

"And children? You'll have children?"

"Well, yes, I suppose." He hadn't considered this before, but Fiyero liked kids well enough. He'd had a sister, five years younger, but she'd died three years ago. She was not spoken of. They had gotten on well, though, and he had no doubt it would have been the same if she'd lived, or perhaps even if he'd had other siblings. And friends' siblings, or other various children floating around: he was fine with them all. "And be the prince, which I don't very much look forward to."

"Still…at least you'll get to live." And then, without warning, she burst into tears.

Fiyero started back.

"I want to be alive!" Nor gasped through her hands. "I don't want to be fourteen forever!"

Before he had a chance to think about what he was doing, Fiyero hugged her. By the time his brain caught up with him and he realized that he did _not_ want to be embracing some ghost, she'd already accepted his shoulder to cry on. He didn't know how long they sat there, but eventually Nor sat back and wiped her face.

"Sorry," she said. "That was kind of embarrassing. I just—I don't want to disappear forever."

Fiyero's shoulder was still dry. Creepy factor. "You won't," he assured her. "I'll remember you. I'll find a way to keep you alive too, I promise. And do you have to stay dead?" he asked her. "Can you be reincarnated?"

"I don't know…I never considered that."

"Can you choose what you come back as if you do?"

"I told you, I don't know. But I'd probably want to be a human girl. Like I used to be."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but—what _did_ you used to be?"

Nor seemed only too happy to tell him, though, and for quite some time they sat and talked about themselves, about whatever came to mind. She told him that the cougar would probably be fine, and he was comforted.

They could be great friends, Fiyero thought, if she were only alive.

Then Nor suddenly turned to the east and squinted. Then she stood up. "I have to go," she said.

"What—why?"

She pointed. "The sun is rising."

Following her finger, Fiyero could see a strip of gray, like the night was starting to peel away.

"And I have to go. I can't stay any longer."

He sighed. "Goodbye, then. I'll miss you."

"I think I'll miss you too," she said, and started to walk away into the rising dew. "Then she turned around and said, "But Fiyero—whatever you do in your life, remember to _live._ Follow your heart; while you shouldn't ignore what others need, remember that you need to be happy too. You'll do that?"

He nodded. "I will." He raised his hand and waved a goodbye. "And good luck."

Nor smiled back before turning and melding into the mist rising with the sun.

Fiyero returned to his rock, feeling for some reason lonely. Twiddling his flute, he turned to watch the sunrise. It was gorgeous from here. Then he heard his father calling and turned around.

Marillot beckoned from the bottom of the hill, where he was standing and—thank God!—holding Fiyero's clothes..

"You see?" he said when Fiyero had clambered down the hill. "You're still here." Nevertheless, Fiyero could detect relief in his father's voice. "How was it?"

Fiyero shrugged. He didn't really want to talk about Nor. She was private, somehow. "Fine."

"Ah, the part where he responds with false bravado instead of admitting that he was scared shitless."

Fiyero grinned, more confident with the sun in the sky and clothes on his body; indeed, the night seemed like years ago. "Well, there was actually this cougar…but it went fine. Hey—can I keep the flute?"

Marillot glanced at the piece of bamboo. "I don't see why not. Look—let's get home before your mother wears a hole in the kitchen floor, where she's probably got an army's worth of food for you. Honestly, she spent the entire night worrying and cooking."

"What'll she do with the extra?"

"Oh, keep the entire tribe fed as usual. I think we'll let her smother you, eat enough to keep her satisfied, and then go down and get you these?" He touched one of the diamond markings on his face.

"Sure. Ah…do they hurt?"

"Only for a moment, and not that much anyway. It's only a needle, and in a couple of hours you're done."

Fiyero tried not to wince at the thought.

Baxiana responded precisely as they'd predicted when they arrived at Kiamo Ko—a whirlwind of smothering hugs and voiced relief, followed by pleas for him to come into the kitchen and eat something. She asked some questions, and Fiyero answered them as he saw fit.

The day wandered on. Getting the tattoos was just as his father had said: the needles hurt, but only for a moment. He ran into some of his friends and went off with them and demonstrated how he'd figured out the song on his flute (a feat which entertained them for years to come). He was interrogated as to how the night had gone, and now he understood why other friends had been so reluctant to speak of it. There was some indefinable barrier between life yesterday and today. Something had changed within him, something was not the same.

When he went to sleep that night, in a warm bed with his dog next to him—as long as he brushed dog hair off the sheets Baxiana never knew—he realized that he actually felt wistful for the cold yet bracing air of a Vinkus night; of the cougar; of Nor.

He hadn't slept since the night before last, and sometime in between then and now he'd learned some important things. He wasn't quite sure what they all were, but he knew that he had. He finished that thought and went to sleep.

THE END


End file.
